


What I Really, Really Want

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Series: I'll Tell You [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bisexual Simon Snow, Lack of Communication, M/M, Morning After, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Roommates, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: I have to press my lips together firmly to keep a stupid grin from spreading across my face when I think about how I wound up in Simon Snow’s bed. When I think about what happened last night. When I think about the look on his face when he—Okay, nope, I probably shouldn’t think about that now. Not unless he’s ready for an encore and—hold on, where is he? I feel like a complete idiot for taking so long to realize that, while I may be in Simon Snow’s bed right now, Simon Snow is not. So where the fuck is he?-----After spending the night in Simon Snow’s bed, Baz tries to process what it means for them—that is, until Snow assures him it means nothing, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos on the previous fic in this series! I was nervous about trying something new, so thank you for the warm welcome. I expect I'll be post a few more stories in the near future, as well. And this is going up the same day as the last chapter because I have no self-control.
> 
> This part picks up the story from the morning after Baz and Simon's little "tête-à-tête," so to speak. (Gah, sorry! I'm a sucker for a double entendre, especially a French one.)
> 
> Like I said in the notes for part one, part two is from Baz's POV. As it turns out, he's a bit of a softie--what a shock.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It takes me a minute to figure out where I am when I wake up. The room looks like mine, but everything’s on the wrong side. No, wait, _I’m_ on the wrong side. I’m in the wrong bed… _Simon Snow’s bed_ …

I have to clamp my lips together firmly to keep a stupid grin from spreading across my face when I think about how I wound up in Simon Snow’s bed. When I think about what happened last night. When I think about the look on his face when he—

Okay, nope, I probably shouldn’t think about that _now_. Not unless he’s ready for an encore and—hold on, where is he? I feel like a complete idiot for taking so long to realize that, while I may be in _Simon Snow’s bed_ right now, _Simon Snow_ is not. So where the fuck is he?

I prop myself up on my elbows and look over at the analog clock I’d placed on the shelf above my desk—Simon thought it was lame to have an analog clock in the room when we can just use our mobiles, but mine is not handy at the moment; also I suspect he just doesn’t like it because he has trouble telling time—to see that it’s only half eight, and he doesn’t have class until ten on Thursdays. Which means he probably just got up and went to the bathroom, so he should return soon, and then I can pull him back into bed and we can make out until he’s so late for class that he might as well skip it. (Am I a bad influence?)

In the meantime, I decide to get out of bed for now and start picking up my clothes, because I never leave stuff lying around on the floor overnight and it’s driving me mad. I put all of my things where they belong and throw on a t-shirt and some jogging bottoms, just to have something on, since I feel like it might be weird if I’m completely undressed when he gets back. I don’t know why.

I lean against the side of his disheveled bed for a few minutes but when he still hasn’t come back I figure he must be showering, so I wander over to my desk and take a seat, opening my laptop to check my email. Although I never get any important messages. Or, at least, I usually don’t.

I’m not even sure if this really qualifies as an “important” message, but I was supposed to meet up with my group in Sociology this afternoon so we could put together our presentation, but one of them has sent a message asking to bump the meeting up to this morning, and everyone else has already agreed, so I would be a bit of a dick to refuse when I don’t technically have anything on right now. Which means I also need a shower, ASAP.

Just as I stand up, Simon enters the room, and casts me a questioning look as he walks over to his closet. I can tell that he has indeed just showered because his curls are matted in a wet lump on top of his head. He takes the towel in his hand and rubs it all over his head to dry it, even though all he’s doing is booking a one-way ticket to Frizz City. What I wouldn’t give to run a leave-in conditioner or a curl-defining creme through his hair right now… But I also don’t want to be one of those people who feels the need to micromanage their boyfriend’s life all the time.

_Whoa_. Boyfriend? I am getting so far ahead of myself, shit. Like, maybe we should go on a _date_ first, and see how things go from there. Though we’ve done things a bit out of order already. A story for the grandkids, I suppose… On second thought, maybe not.

Also, _grandkids_? Fuck me, I’m diving right in, aren’t I? _Chill the fuck out, Baz_.

I’m suddenly aware that Simon’s been back for a solid minute and I still haven’t said anything to him. “Hey,” is all I can seem to manage without running the risk of blurting out the word _boyfriend_ or _grandkids_ , apparently.

“Hey,” he says without even looking at me, taking out a (hopefully clean) jumper from the closet and pulling it on over his head.

His response feels cold, but perhaps I came across cold at first, too. “Um, I’m gonna get a shower real quick,” I add as I get out my towel and shower caddy from under my bed. “But I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He finally glances over at me and I offer what I believe to be a reassuring smile so he knows that I’m open to talk more when I get back. “Whatever,” he says, and looks away again. He walks up to the edge of his bed and starts yanking the sheets off.

“Oh, uh, I can help you with that when I’m done—”

“It’s fine,” he says tersely, giving the fitted sheet a firm tug, but it doesn’t budge.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m perfectly capable of changing my own sheets, thanks,” he snaps.

I figure it best not to point out that I’ve never seen him change his sheets the whole time we’ve lived here. “Okay, well, I’ll, uh, see you in a bit, then.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so I just leave. I don’t really understand what’s going on with him right now. He’s acting like… like nothing happened. Did he forget already? I mean, I know he can be forgetful sometimes, but his memory’s not _that_ shit.

Maybe he just wishes that nothing happened. Maybe he thinks it was a mistake, and pretending it didn’t happen will make it just go away. _Fuck, I’m so pathetic_. Why did I think he would be any different than the rest of them? I thought he was so happy last night— _I_ was so happy last night—that it had to be different. But it wasn’t different, I guess…

_Fuck, shit, fuck fuck fuck!_ I pound my fist against the tile wall a couple times before I come to my senses and douse my hand in body wash to disinfect it from whatever germs exist inside a communal shower.

Why do I even care what he thinks, anyway? He’s just some guy; I hardly even know him. He’s practically a stranger to me. He’s just a cute stranger who shares a room with me, that’s it.

_Then why did it feel different last night?_ Why did I kiss him afterwards? Why did I cuddle up with him until we fell asleep, all cramped up together in his single bed? Why did I let myself believe that someone could want more from me—more _of_ me—than just…

Whatever, it’s my own fault anyway. He told me himself he wasn’t even sure about his sexuality—“I’m _probably_ bi”—and I had promised myself I wouldn’t let sexually-confused guys use me as a _queer-o-meter_ anymore, yet here I am. Serves me right, right?

I stare at my reflection in the mirror once I’m out of the shower, with a microfibre hair towel on my head, and I try to plaster a signature Basilton sneer on my face, but my bottom lip won’t stop trembling, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose. _I will not let Simon Snow make me crumble. So what if he doesn’t want more from me? I don’t want more from him anyway._ I know that I’m lying to myself, but I don’t care. I _can’t_ care.

“Fuck you, Snow,” I grumble to myself as I open my eyes, but I can see in the mirror that I’m no longer alone. I turn my head slightly in order to look over at Penelope Bunce—a girl who lives on our floor—standing at the sink beside mine. (The bathrooms in our building are gender neutral, which the administration claims is a trans-positive inclusivity thing, but I think it’s probably just that they were too cheap to put in more bathrooms back when the building was changed from male-only to a mixed residence. The inclusivity thing is just an unintentional benefit.)

“What’s Simon done to get on your nerves this time, Basil?” she asks as she loads her toothbrush with toothpaste, only giving me a cursory glance. She and Snow are pretty good friends, and while I have nothing against her, personally, I can tell that she only really knows what Snow tells her about me. And I assume I’m not always painted in the most flattering light, so there’s always something of a condescending tone in her voice.

“Nothing,” I mutter, pulling my hair down from the towel and combing it out with my fingers.

“I wish you would give him a break,” she says, though it’s hard for me to make out the words with the toothbrush in her mouth. I think she realizes this, because she takes it out so she can add, “I don’t see why the two of you can’t be friends, honestly.”

I scowl as I add a couple drops of a shine serum to my hands and rake them back through my hair. “What makes you think I’d want to be friends with him?” _Or what makes you think he’d want to be friends with me?_

“I dunno, maybe I just don’t believe your misanthropic bullshit.” She spits out the residual toothpaste into the sink and wipes her mouth on the back of her sleeve— _ew_. “Or maybe I’ve seen you looking at him from across the dining hall.”

I snap my head around to look at her directly. “Excuse me?”

“Look, Simon might be oblivious, but I’m not.”

“Even if that were true—which it’s not,” I tell her, “that doesn’t mean that he would want—Ugh, just forget it.” I turn back to face the sink and angrily pack up my toiletries because I can’t trust myself to shave when I’m this agitated.

“You don’t know, maybe he likes guys, too,” she says in a way that seems like she knows that he (probably) does like guys but she’s trying her best not to out him.

“Well, ‘liking guys’ is not the same thing as ‘liking me,’ so…”

“Being a bit nicer to him is a start, though. You could at least give him a chance to—”

“You know what, Bunce,” I say, facing her once more. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: just because a guy is _questioning his sexuality_ or whatever—”

“I never said—”

“—It doesn’t mean he has free reign to use any gay guy he meets as his own sexual litmus test. And it doesn’t mean I should have to coddle his ‘ _probably bi’_ feelings if he’s not even going to give an ounce of consideration to mine, so you both can just fuck right off!”

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of that. First of all, she has nothing to do with whatever happened between Snow and me, so yelling at her is very much an asshole move on my part. And second, I sort of just implied that I have _feelings_ for him, which was a secret I was planning to take to my (hopefully early) grave.

Penelope’s face goes from offended to concerned as she looks at me. “Baz—”

I need to get out of here, _right_ _now_ , so I pick up my stuff and walk away without another word, before she can say anything else. I storm back to my room, ignoring everyone I pass along the way—like always—and nearly break the door down when I enter with greater force than is necessary.

Thankfully, Snow isn’t here anymore. I notice that his laptop case is still next to his desk, though, so it means he hasn’t left for class yet, but his sheets are missing. He’s probably gone down to the laundry room with them. I’m guessing he doesn’t have any idea how long a load of laundry takes to wash and dry, because there’s no way he’ll have it done before his ten o’clock lecture. Fuck, what do I care? He can do whatever he wants. _I’m done with him_.

I begin packing up my school bag so I can go meet up with my Sociology group, but I soon stop to take another look over at his bed. It looks so strange without his ridiculous Spider-Man sheets— _fucking hell_ , _did I just ejaculate on Spider-Man sheets last night?_ (I think I’m just going to file that one away under NOPE, NOT GONNA GO THERE, and move along.)

Even though he’s washing his sheets, possibly for the first time ever, he still hasn’t picked up any of his clothes that got strewn about last night. I let out a frustrated groan as I bend down to pick up the garments from the floor so I can put them on his bed—though I should really be putting them in his hamper, because I know he’s probably just going to recirculate them back into his wardrobe as is.

His t-shirt is the last item I gather, as it somehow ended up all the way over by his desk chair—I think that one was my fault—but I don’t set it down on his bed right away. For some reason, unbeknown to me, I turn it right side out and hold it up by the shoulders in front of me, at about the height where his shoulders would sit in relation to mine. I find myself thinking back to the way it felt to rest my head on his shoulder, to graze my lips over it, to bury my face in it and—

And now I’m burying my face in his dirty t-shirt, great. There’s something seriously wrong with me, I know, but it’s just nice to have his smell so close again. I can imagine him here with me. I can imagine that last night never ended. That today’s just been a dream so far and I’m actually still asleep next to him, curled up against his back. My every inhalation is infused with his essence, and when I wake up he’ll roll to face me and kiss me on the bridge of my nose and tell me—

_Shit_. I hear his key in the door, so I throw the t-shirt onto his bed and hurry back to my side of the room to put my shoes on.

He appears mildly confused to see me again when he walks in. “You’re back,” he says. He likes to state the obvious a lot.

“I said I would be,” I reply, tightening my jaw. “You know a full wash and dry cycle takes about three hours, right?”

“Huh?”

I stand up and swing my school bag over one shoulder. “Never mind,” I grumble, walking towards the door to grab my jacket on the way out.

“Where’re you going?” he asks, and for a moment I wonder if he’s trying to get me to stay so we can finally talk about this.

“Oh, uh, I’m supposed to meet some people for this group project thing,” I tell him once I stop near the door, turning to face in his direction, “but I don’t have to go if—”

“Okay, have fun.” He waves his hand in the air, like he’s motioning for me to piss off, without even looking at me.

His cavalier attitude surprises me a little—though at this point, I’m not sure why I expected anything else—and yet I stupidly keep trying to get through to him. “Look, I can bail on this meeting if you want to talk or any—”

“Talk about what?” he says, feigning ignorance as he slowly swivels his head towards me with a blank expression.

I know that he hasn’t actually forgotten because he’s not that great of an actor, but he sure is trying test the limits of his range. I carefully drop my bag to the ground next to me so I can walk over to him unencumbered. It’s clearly not what he was expecting, because his eyes widen in surprise—which is ridiculously adorable, might I add.

“About last night, you absolute numpty,” I say once I’m less than arm’s distance from him.

“Oh, um, well, see,” he begins, his back rigid and his voice devoid of any coolness he had tried to impose on it earlier, “that wasn’t—I mean, I wasn’t—I didn’t _mean_ any of the stuff that I—I just, um…”

I can taste bile in my throat and it feels like my stomach is somersaulting, but I keep my demeanour placid. “You just wanted a meaningless hand job.”

“Uhh, yeah, I guess,” he says. “I was just, like, curious about, um…”

“Experimenting with your sexuality, I get it.”

“Right, sure, but it’s not, like, a big deal for me, or whatever, so you don’t have to worry, okay?”

I can feel myself start to glower at him so I try to turn it into a sneer. “Good. Just making sure you understand what this was.”

“Meaningless?”

“Exactly.” In a huff, I turn around and pick up my bag next to the door before giving him one last look over my shoulder. “Oh, and Snow,” I add as I open the door to leave, “next time you get a hankering for experimentation, maybe try some hardcore recreational drugs, because that way you can leave me out of it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments so far, folks, and I think we can all agree at this point that these boys really need to smarten up, don't they?
> 
>  
> 
> Also, not to be _that_ person, but I thought I'd mention that I just created a new tumblr for my Carry On stuff ([@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/)) and although there's not really much there yet, I plan to start posting a bunch more, and I might even put up sneak peeks and previews of my WIPs and stuff, if anyone's interested. (It's okay if you aren't, though.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy and/or hate this chapter :)

 There’s something to be said for the status quo.

It may not always be the most exciting or the most enjoyable or the most fulfilling state of being, but it can be comfortable. And that’s what I feel now. _Comfortable_.

Things are back to the way they used to be before _That Night We Don’t Talk About_. Well, pretty much the way they used to be. I still hold my tongue around him, save for a few biting remarks here or there, and he still bitches at me for my holier-than-thou attitude. The way things should be. It’s fine.

Except for those moments…

Those moments like right now, for instance.

I’m sitting in bed reading—for pleasure, not for school—while he taps away on his keyboard furiously over at his desk. He mostly just hunches towards his laptop and keeps his head down, but every now and then he takes a few seconds to stretch his arms and his back, and it draws my eye away from the page in front of me. I can’t help it. When he arches his back over his chair and raises his arms above his head, it causes the hem of his t-shirt to lift up _just enough_ that I can see a sliver of skin at the side of his abdomen, which is _just enough_ to drive me crazy. I’m not sure if he knows what he is doing, but I doubt he does—he’s not that clever, or even that malicious, I don’t think.

That’s the worst part; I don’t think he’s _trying_ to hurt me with his nonchalance about our so-called _meaningless_ hookup. He just genuinely believes that it wasn’t a big deal. For either of us. As if he thinks I tell every random guy I hook up with that he is so fucking gorgeous when he comes… _Fuck_ , _why did I have to say just any goddamn thing that came to mind while I was caught up in the afterglow?_

I press two fingers into my forehead, right between my eyebrows, and try to expunge that embarrassing memory from my brain. It doesn’t seem to be working, though, and when I open my eyes again, I see Snow looking over at me with his whole body rotated in my direction and his legs stretching out from this side of his chair. “What?” I snap, possibly with more hostility than I intend, but it’s probably for the best. Can’t let him think I’ve gone soft, now, can I?

“You alright?” he asks, his forehead lightly creased with concern.

I lower my eyes back to my book, but I can tell he’s still facing me, looking at me, scrutinizing me. “I’m fine, so piss off, Snow.”

“I was just going to ask if you would… Um… You know what, never mind,” he says as he slumps back to face his computer.

“Ask if I would _what,_ Snow?” I say in a huff, looking up again to glare at him.

He fidgets nervously in his seat. “Um, it’s just that I have this English paper due tomorrow,” he says, and I mentally prepare myself for my inevitable eye-roll very shortly, “and the last one I submitted had a bunch of spelling mistakes and stuff, so I lost quite a few points and I was hoping… hoping you could…” He twists in his chair and looks back at me. “Proofread it for me?”

I blink at him incredulously for a moment. “You know that spellcheck is a thing, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t find it that helpful. Like, sometimes it underlines a name it doesn’t recognize, even though I typed it in letter for letter from the text, or it doesn’t underline a word that’s spelled correctly but is the incorrect use of a homonym, and the squiggly lines make it so hard for me to read, and—”

“Fine,” I cut in, tired of hearing his laundry list of excuses.

His eyes light up a bit, like he’s pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, but just this once.” I exhale loudly and set my book down on the bed next to me before heading over toward his desk. “Get up,” I tell him once I’m standing beside his chair and he hasn’t figured out to move on his own.

“Oh, right.” He pushes his chair back from his desk so he can stand, but instead of going around the opposite side of the chair, he squeezes between me and the desk in order to get past, and I tense up a bit when his arm brushes against mine. “Sorry,” he mutters, and I quickly sit down in his chair to get some space between us.

I start to read his essay, which has far fewer spelling errors than I expected—though there are _some_ , of course—but it is hard to concentrate because he keeps leaning over to see what I’m doing every time I fix a mistake.

“Wait,” he says as I get to the last page and immediately make a correction. He places a hand on my shoulder and leans right over to see the screen up close. “There’s a C in ‘acquaintance’?”

“Two of them, actually,” I retort, trying not to think about the heat radiating off the hand that’s against me.

“Oh.” He lets out a soft chuckle and stands upright again. “Right. Thanks.”

“Glad to help,” I say sarcastically, and I glance sideways where his hand is still resting on my shoulder. “You can stop groping me now, by the way.”

He backs off quickly, like he’s actually afraid of me or something, the poor git. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

I hold up my hand in his direction to make him shut up as I continue to read the essay’s conclusion. The content overall could probably use a little finessing, but at least I’ve caught most of the spelling errors, which was all I agreed to do. “There,” I tell him as I stand up and make my way around the far side of the chair so I can avoid any excessive physical contact.

“Thank you,” he says, but I walk past him without any sign of acknowledgment until he grabs my forearm, and I turn towards him with a start. “Baz, thank you,” he repeats, looking me right in the eye as if that will better convey his sincerity in this matter. Which, to be honest, it kind of does.

I, however, can’t seem to maintain the eye contact, as my gaze shifts from place to place around the room. I try to make it seem like I’m just bored, not anxious. “No problem,” I mumble.

“I mean it, it’s a really big help.” He squeezes my arm for a second to regain my attention. “Maybe I could, like, repay the favour or…”

His voice trails off and I glance down at his hand, which is practically searing into my skin, before meeting his eyes again. He’s obviously not trying to barter _sex_ in exchange for help with his essay, I know, but I would honestly proofread a thousand papers just to watch him unravel again… The way his pupils darken his eyes and his mouth hangs slightly open—kind of like it is right now…

 _Shit_ , why am I staring at his mouth? And why must he look at me that way, with his lips ever-so-slightly parted? It’s like a fucking engraved invitation for my tongue. But I can tell by his clueless expression that he has no idea that’s what he’s doing. He’s just a _mouth-breather_ , quite literally.

When I finally come to my senses, I jerk my arm out of his grasp. “I can’t imagine getting _you_ to proofread any of my assignments would do me an ounce of good,” I reply with a sneer before heading back over to my bed.

“There’s gotta be _something_ I can do for you, though, right?” he continues, following me over to my side of the room like a shadow.

I stop and turn to face him once more with my arms folded, leaning against the edge of my raised bed. “And what sort of service, pray tell, could you possibly offer me that I’m not perfectly capable of doing myself? And most likely better.”

“Uh, well, I…” His brow furrows as he struggles to come up with an answer. “I dunno, I could just do something nice for you, like buy you a coffee or whatever.”

“You don’t have to do—”

“Baz, come on, please,” he adds, looking at me like it pains him that I keep rebuffing his offer. “I don’t want this sort of debt hanging over me, like I’m forever going to owe you something.”

I narrow my eyes at him while I consider my options. Holding something like this over Snow’s head could be somewhat amusing, now that I think of it, so maybe I should make him work for it a bit more. Then again, I don’t have the time or energy to torment him like that, so I’d probably be better off just getting this out of the way so he’ll leave me alone. “Fine,” I tell him sternly. “Coffee. First thing tomorrow morning. Got it?”

A smile creeps across his face and he nods. “Got it.”

 ***

“How do you take your coffee?”

I’ve just gotten back from my shower, and already Snow’s hounding me with questions, so I frown at him as the door closes behind me. “What?”

“I’m buying you a coffee, remember?” he says. “I need to know how you take it so I can go get it for you.”

“You’re just going to _bring_ me a coffee?” I reach down to stow my shower caddy underneath my bed before looking back at him again.

“Wasn’t that the deal?”

“The deal was you were going to buy me a coffee, but I never agreed to you just bringing me a cup from the machine downstairs.”

“I wasn’t just gonna—”

“If you’re buying me a coffee, then I get to go pick it out myself, alright?” I add, although I’m not sure why I’m being such a demanding prick about this. I guess it just comes naturally to me.

“Alright…” He looks a little confused, but nods in agreement. “When do you want to—”

“Now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” I fix him with a challenging stare for a second and then walk over to my desk to pack up my bag so that I can go directly to my first class afterwards, even though it’s not for a little while yet. I toss in a book that I can read at the coffee shop, too, because I intend to make the most of it.

“Okay, cool,” he says as he goes to get his tattered trainers on so we can go.

I, in turn, pull on a pair of leather Chelsea boots—which he once told me were _a bit too posh_ , but what does he know about fashion, anyway?—and grab my jacket on my way out. I double-check that I have my room key in my pocket, since the door locks itself when it shuts, and I carry on down the corridor.

“Thanks for waiting,” Snow quips once he catches up to me, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, which looks a bit too light for the current weather. But he usually complains about overheating easily, so I guess it’ll probably be fine. _What do I care, anyway?_

Neither of us says anything else as we make our way out of the building, and I try to keep a bit ahead of him so that it just looks like we happen to be leaving at the same time but we’re not _together_. Because we’re not, really.

Our silence continues down the road for several blocks and a few turns, until he decides to stop all of a sudden.

“Wait, I thought you wanted coffee,” he says, and look I back to see him standing by a storefront with a puzzled expression on his face.

“You think I get my coffee at _Costa_?” I say with a condescending quirk of my eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t know!” he replies, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What is it, then? Caffè Nero? Starbucks? What do you _want_?”

I press my tongue against the inside of my teeth so I don’t inadvertently smile at how cute he gets when he’s frustrated and confused. “Just follow me,” I tell him as I take a couple steps backwards before turning to continue on my way.

I can hear him jog for a few paces behind me in order to catch up again, but he soon falls in step next to me. I’m a bit surprised he doesn’t ask where we’re going, actually, but it’s not long until we get there. When we arrive at our destination, I hold the door open for him—what, am I a _gentleman_ now?—and he walks in, looking around the place like he’s trying to take it all in. Like he’s never been inside an independent café before. I even have to give him a nudge because he stops as soon as he gets through the door, blocking my way.

There’s one person in line at the counter when we arrive, so we step up behind them and Snow stares at the menu board on the wall above the espresso machines, most likely in awe of the meticulous handwriting—his handwriting is terrible, from what I’ve seen.

“Wait, what are you having?” he asks suddenly, turning his head in my direction.

I’m confused for a second before I remember that he’s supposed to be buying my drink, of course. That’s the only reason we’re even here. “Oh, uh, flat white,” I say, and I notice him look back up at the menu like he’s checking that it’s even on the list.

How can his face be so animated just while reading a sign? I can see every little twitch of his lips, his nose, his eyebrows, even in profile, as he studies the information in front of him. I hate that everything he does is so goddamn adorable.

“Hi, there! What can I get you today?”

The barista’s voice snaps me out of my staring-at-Simon-Snow daze and I look over to see a young woman—whom I recognize as a relatively new hire, since I’ve only seen her here once or twice before—smiling broadly at us. Well, more so at him.

“Oh, hi,” he replies, taking a step up towards the counter. “Um, can I get a flat white, please?”

“Absolutely,” she says as she presses some keys on the register and then looks up at him again. “Is that everything?”

“Uh, actually—Can I ask, what’s the _Nutella_?” He briefly glances up at the menu boards again.

The barista’s smile widens. “It’s a mocha with hazelnut syrup in it, and it’s _really_ good, trust me.”

His eyes widen a little, and I can tell the idea of coffee that tastes like candy must delight him. “Okay, yeah, if you say it’s good, then I’ll get that,” he says with a grin.

“Sure thing.” She presses some more keys, and I notice a subtle flush to her cheeks that wasn’t there a minute ago. “Anything else I can get you?”

The way she’s looking at him makes me feel like I might be physically sick, I swear. I’ve never been this close a witness to any of Snow’s interactions with other people, so it somehow never occurred to me that sometimes they _flirt_ with him. _My Simon_. Wait, what am I saying? He’s not _my Simon_. He’s my roommate, and that’s it. I shouldn’t give a shit if girls bat their eyes at him or whatever, it makes no difference to me.

“No, that’s all, thank you,” he says to her, still smiling, and I’m not sure if he’s flirting back or if he’s just super friendly to everyone. Everyone besides me, I mean.

She asks if the drinks are for takeaway, and when he tells her they’re to stay, she pulls out a standing wooden frame with a large number thirteen for him to take to his table so the drinks can get sent over when they’re ready.

After he pays, he takes the frame and offers her a sincere thanks before turning to me. “Where d’you wanna sit?” he asks, causing me to frown at him.

“Are we sitting together?” I scoff before heading towards my favourite table in the corner by the window.

“Aren’t we?” He follows me over. “We only have one number thingy.”

 _Shit_. He’s right. “Fine,” I mutter, and take a seat with my back to the wall, so I can see the whole place, like I usually do. “But you’ll move to another table once you get your ridiculous drink, right?”

He plonks down in the chair across from me, shrugs his jacket off, and rests his forearms on the table as he looks out the window. “If you insist.”

“What, would you rather sit here with me, like we’re on some kind of weird mid-morning _coffee_ _date_ , or something?” _Oh my fucking god, why did I just call this a date?_ I was being sarcastic, yes, but I still didn’t mean to say it out loud. (Luckily, he was looking out the window and didn’t see my face twitch right after I said it.)

He slowly turns his head to face me, leaning forward on the table. “You never go on coffee dates in the morning, Baz?” he asks, wearing an expression of genuine curiosity.

“Why, do you?” I say with a sneer as I recline in my seat a little, mainly to put some distance between our faces since he’s leaning so far in.

“Yeah, I used to with my ex-girlfriend,” he says. “I thought it was, like, a normal couple thing.”

“Well, I guess if you have a _girlfriend_ , yeah…”

“Oh. Do gay guys not do coffee dates?”

“What?” I can hardly believe he takes everything so literally, sometimes. “No, I mean, like, it’s different if you’re in a _relationship_ with someone.”

He looks down at the table like he’s a bit embarrassed. “So you’ve, uh, never been in a relationship?”

“I didn’t say that,” I reply, though I have to avert my gaze as well. I really don’t need to have a conversation about my love life with _him_ right now.

“Okay, so what do—” He stops abruptly when a guy carrying a mug in each hand comes up to us.

“Alright, lucky number thirteen,” the guy says as he lowers his arms a little. “Which one of you has the _Nutella_?”

“Oh, uh, that’s me,” Snow replies, sitting up and moving his arms off the table to make some room for his drink.

The server reaches over to set the mug down, since he is holding it in the opposite hand from where Snow is seated. “And I guess you must be the flat white,” he adds when he turns and places the other mug in front of me. His eyes connect with mine as he sets my drink on the table and I see his eyebrows flicker ever so slightly.

I know that look.

“Thanks,” I say in return, the corner of my lip curling up a smidgen. It’s just a reflex on my part, but he mirrors it back at me.

“Are we waiting on any food, or is it just the drinks for now?” he adds, standing up straight again and resting his hand lightly on my shoulder as he looks back and forth between Snow and me.

“Just this,” says Snow, smiling in a way that looks far less sincere than before.

“Excellent.” The server picks up the wooden frame from our table with his free hand. “Well, if you need anything else, just let me know, alright?”

“Great, thank you.” Snow stares down at the steaming mug in front of him as he puts his hands around it.

The hand on my shoulder gives a slight squeeze, and I look up again to see another half-smile from our server before he walks away, my eyes following him until he’s out of sight—because _why not_ , right?

“Well, that was a bit rude,” I hear Snow say, and I turn my attention back towards him only to find that he’s glaring right at me.

“What was a bit rude?” I ask as disinterestedly as I can, picking up my drink to take a tentative sip.

“That guy, he didn’t know that we’re not, like, _together_ , yet he was all over you!”

I wince as I nearly burn my tongue and I set the mug back down to cool a bit more. “Why should you care, Snow?” I grumble. Although I am surprised that, being the oblivious twit that he is, he actually knows what covert gay flirting looks like, let alone that he was paying enough attention to notice it now.

“I dunno, I just…” He lowers his eyes back down to the table and shifts in his seat. “Is it really _that_ ridiculous?” he says after a moment, then looks over at me again.

“What do you mean?” I say, although I silently scold myself for having let the icy edge drop from my voice for a second. But it’s taking all my strength not to lean over and caress his stupid little face right now.

“Is the idea that you would actually, you know, _go out_ with someone like me so farfetched? Do I just have ‘loser’ written on my forehead?”

I sigh impatiently. “Of course not.”

“Then how come nobody…” he says, letting his words trail off as he stares at the whipped cream that is nearly spilling out of his mug.

“Nobody…?” I wait for him to continue but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to. “Come on, Snow, I’ve never known you to shut up about anything.”

He leans the side of his head on his fist, like the weight of it is just too much for his neck right now. “I haven’t really dated anyone in, like, two years,” he adds glumly.

“You mean at all? Not even casually?” I don’t know why I’m surprised; it’s not like I ever see him go out.

“Not unless you count—” He glances up at me but looks away quickly when our eyes meet. “No. I haven’t.”

I try my luck with my beverage once more, and this time it’s finally cool enough that I can drink some of it. “You know the barista was checking you out, right?” I tell him. I want to gauge his reaction, though I’m not sure what sort of masochistic purpose it will serve me.

“What?” He looks as though this is brand new information to him. Maybe it is.

“Well she certainly wasn’t blushing at _me_.”

He shakes his head and lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“I’m really not.”

“Yeah, well… ” He takes a quick glance over his shoulder towards the counter where the barista who took our order is currently serving another customer—though she is much less smiley than she was for Snow. “I’m not really… interested.”

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure why someone who was just moping about never having a date would turn his nose up at lead like that, but I’m in no position to judge. “I’m just saying, you’ve got options.”

“Right…” He picks up his abominable Nutella-flavoured beverage, but it takes him a minute to figure out how to drink it without getting whipped cream on his nose, and in the end he just goes for it. He chuckles a little after he takes a sip, and winds up wiping off his nose with the sleeve of his jumper— _oh, for fuck’s sake_.

Shaking my head, I go for another sip of my coffee—mostly to cover up the dorky smile that is currently trying to take over my face—but I don’t notice him watching me until I set the mug back down.

“Why are you being so nice to me today?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to one side, like I’m one of those Magic Eye images and he doesn’t know which way to look at it.

I let out a derisive chuckle. “I’m being nice?”

“Relatively speaking.”

“What can I say, Snow? I guess I’m just a nice guy.” I flash him a sarcastic smile and then divert my attention out the window so he’ll think that I’m bored of our conversation already.

“Yeah, I think maybe you are, sometimes…”

“Oh?”

“I think you actually are kind of nice, once in a while.”

I turn to look at him again like he’s out of his mind. “I feel really sorry for you if you think _this_ is what nice is like.”

“Maybe not _this_ , right this second,” he says, “but I’ve seen moments of kindness from you, as much as you might like to hide it.”

“Moments of kindness?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Such as…?”

“Such as when you proofread my essay before you even knew that I would pay you back for it.”

“Perhaps I was going to make you pay me back all along, I just hadn’t decided how until you suggested this.”

He narrows his eyes at me like he’s accepting my challenge. “How about when you suggested I work in the library because the chairs are better for my back?”

I sneer again, in an attempt to hide my mild embarrassment, since I didn’t realize that he’d noticed that one. “I was trying to get rid of you, obviously.”

“Then maybe when you…” He shyly lowers his head and his voice, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck. “When you told me… that I was gorgeous…”

 _Fuck_. I was hoping that part had gotten blurry in the heat of the moment and he wouldn’t remember it. “I just wanted in your pants, Snow,” I reply as coolly as I can manage. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He snaps his head back up to look at me, like his bullshit detector is finally going off. “My pants were long gone by that time, Baz,” he says pointedly.

I quickly dart my eyes around to make sure nobody nearby heard him, since he forgot to keep his voice down for that one, before I scowl at him. “What do you want me to tell you, Snow?” I hiss, leaning in so no one else will hear me. “I’m a _liar_ , alright? I lie to get what I want from people—I lied to _you_ to get what I wanted. You had just scared away the only action I was gonna get that night, so I did what I had to do to get the job done.”

He blinks slowly a couple of times before responding. “What the fuck, Baz?” he blurts out. “I mean, I know that night wasn’t, like, _special_ for you or anything, but I thought that, at least in that moment, you… that you… wanted _me_.”

 _Fuck._ I took it way too far. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“How did I ever think there was even a shred of decency in you, honestly?” he cuts in. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not, I’m just—”

“I can’t believe this.” He lets his head hang down between his hands as he shakes it back and forth. “I _knew_ you were a selfish prick. I knew it, but I had feelings for you anyway, because I’m a fucking idiot who—”

“Wait, you had feelings for—”

“Cut the bullshit, you’ve known all along.” He looks over at me, glowering. “The joke wouldn’t be as funny if I didn’t, now, would it?”

“No, I swear I didn’t—” I stop when he stands abruptly and storms off, leaving his drink and his jacket behind. I want to remind him about his jacket, but he’s so far away now that calling his name or running after him would cause more of a scene than we already have, and I hate having that kind of attention on myself, so I don’t.

I’m such a selfish prick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Simon just dropped the F-bomb; _feelings._ *gasp!*
> 
> Bet you feel like a dumbass now, don'tcha Baz?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have arrived at the final chapter of part 2, the chapter I like to call "The Boys Get Overly Emotional Because They Have All The Feels (But Somehow It Ends With Flirty Banter Anyway)" also known as "I Don't Know How To Write Apology Scenes (And Other Random Stuff)."
> 
> Enjoy! (Or don't. I can't force you to.)

Snow isn’t in our room when I return from my classes, even though he usually is by now, but I can’t say that I’m surprised. If someone had said that stuff to me, I would never want to see them again, let alone share a room with them. He has to come back here eventually, though, and I’ll explain everything to him.

If he’s even willing to hear me speak, that is.

I set my bag down near my desk, tucked behind the foot of my bed, before heading back over to the closets so I can hang up my jacket and then Snow’s, which I’ve been carrying around all day. I’m a little concerned that he’s been out this whole time without it, but I suppose it’s possible that he returned earlier and picked up a different one.

Suddenly, I hear a key in the lock, but I can’t get out of the way fast enough before the door swings open and I’m trapped behind it for a moment. Snow walks in and makes a bee-line for his bed where he drops his bag and slumps against the side of it, facing inward. (He’s only wearing the jumper he had on this morning, so he mustn’t have come back for a different jacket after all.)

Even from this angle, I can tell that he looks like he’s about to break down in tears any moment, which makes me think he doesn’t realize that I’m here… So, I’m kind of in a bind now. I know I should make my presence known to him so he doesn’t think I was intentionally spying, but I don’t want to startle him or make him even more upset just by the fact that I’m here at all.

“Hey, S—” I begin, using my gentlest tone of voice, but he jolts upright and yelps before I can even get his name out.

“Fuck!” he says once he’s relatively stable again, holding his hand on his chest to calm himself. He looks over and glares at me. “What the hell are you doing, standing over there?”

“I, uh, I was just—”

“Are you actually trying to kill me?” he continues angrily. “It wasn’t enough to use me and humiliate me and toss me aside, now you have to give me a fucking heart attack?”

“I was just hanging up your jacket—the one you left behind when you stormed off this morning, remember?” I raise my voice to make it harder for him to interrupt me again, because I’m sick of not being able to get a single word in to explain myself. “By the way, it’s rude to just walk out of a conversation like that, you know."

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I _hurt your feelings_ , Baz?” he says sarcastically as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Yes,” I reply, softening my tone again, which seems to catch him off-guard. Maybe he didn’t expect me to even have feelings—and I don’t blame him. “But only because it hurts me to know that I hurt you like that.”

“Right, yeah, I’m sure it does.” He starts to turn away, so I take a couple steps towards him, and he quickly fixes his smouldering stare on me again, causing me to freeze in my tracks.

“Look, I didn’t mean all that stuff I said, alright?”

“Yeah, you’re a liar, I know—”

“No,”—I take another step closer—“I mean I was lying when I told you that I was lying.” _Fuck, this isn’t coming out right._

“You lied about lying?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me—and once again, I don’t blame him.

“Yes!” I say emphatically. “I didn’t want you to know that—that…”

“Didn’t want me to know _what_ , Baz?” he growls. “That you were just using me? That I was just a means to an end? Well, too bad, because now I know.”

Anger bubbles up under the surface of my skin, and even though I know I should be the one apologizing to him, something in me snaps. “How come _you_ get to play the victim here, when _I’m_ the one who got the cold shoulder the morning after?” I reply, nearly shouting.

“Wha—”

“You told me that night was meaningless to you. You told me it wasn’t a big deal,” I go on, before he can even get a word in, this time. “I only went along with it because _you_ said it. You drew those lines, and I was just trying not to cross them. But, you know what? It was a big fucking deal to me!”

Somehow, in the course of my little rant, I’ve managed to inch myself so close that I’m now looming over him, and just about near enough to him that he could punch me in the face if he really wanted to. I almost hope he will. Anything to put me out of my misery.

But he just shakes his head slowly before erupting in mirthless laughter.

“Something funny, Snow?”

“Just… The idea that a one-time hookup could be a big deal to you is kind of hilarious—”

“Yeah, well I didn’t realize it was just a one-time thing when it happened…” I tell him, though my voice has gone quiet and a little hoarse, and I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything. I feel exposed now, like my armour is gone and now I all I can do is wait for him to run his blade through my heart.

“What did you think it was, then? Like a… A…” His speech falters, as though the full impact of my words has finally hit him, and he looks a bit taken aback. “Wait, you thought it wasn’t…?”

 _Shit_. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. It’s all about to spill out now, so I might as well just let it go and face the consequences. “Simon, I’ve wanted to get to know you for a long time—long before that night—but I was too afraid that… that if you got to know me, too… I—I just thought that it was better to make you hate me for being a jerk than to have you hate me for who I really am, so I…” I shake my head because I can feel myself starting to ramble and I want to jostle my thoughts until they fall into some sort of order.

“That night,” I continue, “I let my guard down and I let you see… well, _me_. I let you see everything—I was willing to give you everything.” I have to bite down on my lower lip to keep it from shaking, because there’s no fucking way I’m going to break down in front of him. “Fuck, Simon, I was offering you _all of me_ , but you just took the part you wanted and threw away the rest, like it meant nothing!”

He watches me silently for a minute before responding, but I don’t know that I want to hear whatever he has to say. “Baz—”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter now,” I cut in, raising my hands in surrender as I back away from him. “At least you got to sort out your little _feelings_ for me and get over them, so congrats—”

“Baz,” he repeats as he reaches out and grabs my wrists to keep me from backing up any further. “You called me _Simon_.”

I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “What?”

“Just now. You called me _Simon_. Twice.” He starts to bring his arms down without letting go of my wrists and inches forward. “I like when you call me that,” he adds quietly, lowering his head a little as he closes some of the gap between us.

I stare down at him, a bit dumbfounded, since I have no idea what’s going on, but then he lifts his gaze to meet mine.

“I didn’t _get over them_ , by the way,” he says, though he must see the confusion on my face, because he keeps going. “My feelings for you. I didn’t get over them. If anything, I…” His grip on my wrists loosens. “Baz, I didn’t want you to know that I wanted something more from you because I’ve seen the number of guys who’ve passed through this room. Whose names you barely remember…”

“You thought I wouldn’t remember your name?”

“No, I just… In the biography of Baz, I would barely even be a footnote, but in mine you’d be, like, half the chapters so far.”

I bite my lip again, this time to keep myself from smiling. “I’m half the chapters in your biography?” I tease.

He looks away shyly for a second. “I dunno, maybe. I’ve had a pretty uneventful life, okay?”

I want to plant a kiss on his cheek, right where he’s started to turn a bit pink, but I don’t. “You’re not a footnote, Simon,” I tell him, and I can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “At the very least, you’d be a parenthetical citation.”

My joke seems to catch him by surprise and he lets out a laugh as he replies, “Gee, thanks.” He turns his head to one side, possibly to hide the reluctant smile on his face, but I still notice and it is unjustifiably cute.

I can feel his hands, now barely touching my wrists, start to slip away, though, so I take hold of them before he can drop them back at his sides. But I don’t know what to do now. I want to push. I want to push him to tell me what he’s thinking. I want to push him to tell me where he wants to go from here. I want to push him onto the bed and kiss him so hard that—

“Baz…” he says as he looks down at our hands. “I don’t know if… if I can…”

_Please don’t say it._

“…Trust you.”

_Fuck._

“Lying about lying about lying, or whatever, is just too confusing for me right now.” He pulls his hands free from mine as he retreats a little, and it feels like he finally did it. Blade right through the heart.

I have only myself to blame, though, because I’m the one who armed him. I basically told him not to trust me, so I can’t just be all Surprised Pikachu when he doesn’t trust me. But that doesn’t make it less painful.

“Simon, I—” I begin as I take a step towards him, but he immediately hold up his hand to stop me.

“The more you talk, the more confused I get,” he says. “So maybe we shouldn’t talk anymore. Like, ever.”

_And with a final twist of his sword, the heroic knight vanquishes the evil sorcerer and the kingdom is saved. Huzzah._

My attempts at making light of this in my own head are useless, however, and I start to feel prickly underneath my skin. My eyes are beginning to sting and my throat is getting sore, so I back away quickly, because there is _no fucking way_ I’m going to let Simon Snow make me cry. Especially not in front of him. No fucking—

 _Shit_.

I pivot on the spot and rush over to the side of my bed where I collapse forward a bit, pressing my palms into the mattress to hold myself up as I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing so I don’t go into panic mode and start hyperventilating. I just want to be anywhere but here right now. I need to go, just get out of here, but my feet feel frozen in place.

_I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up._

I fuck everything up.

“Baz, are you…?” His voice is quiet, but I hear him perfectly fine because he somehow managed to sidle up next to me without my knowledge.

“Fuck off, Snow,” I say as I turn my head away from him so I can wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve— _shit, this is cashmere_.

“Baz…” He gently places his hand on my shoulder, and I look back over at him to see that he’s leaning with his hip against the edge of the bed as he faces me.

I wish I could just collapse into him and have him wrap his arms around me, but I can’t. “What do you want?” I snap at him, but my voice is shaky. “You said we shouldn’t talk anymore, so there’s nothing for you to say now.”

He stares at me, frowning slightly, but I have no idea what he’s thinking. Probably that I’m a fucking disaster.

I let my head hang forward in defeat, expecting him to just walk away. But he doesn’t. He stays. He stays, and he takes a bit of my hair that has fallen into my face and tucks it behind my ear.

Whatever that was—affection or kindness or sympathy—is enough to evoke a fresh wave of tears, because I know that I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve affection or kindness or sympathy, not from him. Not from anyone. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will keep the tears from spilling out, but of course it doesn’t work. I can feel a couple start to trickle down my cheek, but before I can raise my arm to soak them up with my sleeve again, he brushes them away for me.

I lift my head to look over at him as he continues to stroke the side of my face. “Simon, I’m sorry I—”

He places his thumb over my mouth to make me stop talking, and runs it slowly across my bottom lip as his eyes land on that spot. His fingers curve under my chin and he gently pulls my face towards his. My eyes land on his lips, too, which are yet again ever-so-slightly parted, in that typical Snow The Mouth-Breather fashion that I love so much.

Wait a second— _love?_ Well, there’s a word I rarely use, even in my mind, but I don’t have time to analyze that right now. My brain is too clouded over with memories of his lips—how they were a little chapped but still soft, how they tasted minty like the Polos he eats all the time, how they felt hot against my skin when he kissed my collarbone—that I can’t even think straight. (Hah.)

I watch him as he studies my face, and I think he’s trying to figure out if he can trust me. Can he take a chance like this? Is it worth the risk? Am _I_ worth the risk? _Am I worth anything?_

“Simon—” I croak, but before I can say another word, his mouth is on mine—and I can hardly believe it.

It feels tentative, though. Like he’s testing the waters because he’s not sure if he can dive in yet. But I want this. I want _him_. I just don’t know how to show him that—and make him believe it.

I kiss him softly in return, so as not to scare him off, but when he slides his hand around to the nape of my neck, it gets harder for me to hold back. As his fingers make their way into my hair, I turn towards him completely so I can grab onto his sides and draw him closer. Because I can’t let him go, not now.

There’s too much urgency in my lips, in my whole body, but I can’t help it. He could change his mind at any second and I’ll never get this moment with him again. This moment where I’m not fucking everything up with my words, where I’m not pushing him away out of fear. This could be it.

I have to stop and catch my breath, though, because apparently I’d been holding it this whole time, but I can feel him start to slip away again and I know that everything’s about to come crashing down around me.

“Baz,” he whispers as he pulls back slightly to examine my face, “can you be honest with me right now?”

I nod and press my forehead against his, trying to breathe in as much of him as possible while I still can. “Yes, I promise, from now on. Always.”

“Will you tell me… what you want?” he says. “What you really, really want.”

I lift my head again to see the uncharacteristically impish smirk on his face, though he soon breaks into laughter. “Oh, I’ll tell you what I want,” I say, closing my arms around him. “I really, _really_ want you, Simon.”

He smiles genuinely at me. “I really, really want you, too, Baz,” he replies as he reaches up and tucks away the bit of hair that fell back into my face again. “All of you.”

“Really? You think you can handle it?” I add jokingly.

He glances downward briefly before looking up at me again with another poorly executed smirk. “I think I already did handle it…”

I chuckle involuntarily. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Simon,” I say as I squeeze him until he’s pressed up against me.

“You called me _Simon_.”

“Hmm.” I lean in to give him another kiss. “Slip of the tongue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is the end for now, fear not, the series will continue! Because you can't just sweep all that insecurity under the rug and pretend it doesn't exist in order to live happily every after, the end. Right?
> 
> Unfortunately, part 3 is as of yet unwritten except for snippets in my head, but I do have another story currently underway. It's already 18k words long (which is loooooong for me, even though I know some people churn that stuff out in like a day, idek), and I'm not sure how long it will end up being. I don't normally like to start posting chapters until I've written the whole thing, but this one is starting to feel like I could just keep going with it for a while, if I wanted to. Let me know if you'd rather wait until it's all done and have me rapid-fire post it like this one, or post sort of as I go, possibly with longer wait times between chapters? Posting it piece-meal like that also means I might put up some other shorter stories in between updates.
> 
> Thanks so much again for all the lovely feedback! I'm very excited to share all the stories I have cooking in my brain already! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.


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